Menteuse
by briecalyps
Summary: Hermione's mother is the renowned Dolores Umbridge. Fleur Delacour has returned to Hogwarts to mentor under the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Set during the Order of the Phoenix, though the plot roughly follows.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I am merely borrowing them for a little demented fun here and there.

Author's Note: Hello all. I wanted to drop a warning that this story will have it's mentionings of both heavy **physical and mental abuse, including that of rape**. I should note, this is also centered around the Order of the Phoenix.

I want to thank you in advance for taking the time to read this, and I hope you'll consider leaving a review or constructive feedback, if you want to. Enjoy and please forgive my grammar.

* * *

Dolores Jane Umbridge tapped the edge of her pink rimmed glasses. Crimp beads hung from both its legs, the chain dangling off her shoulders with a broach to match; it's shade the same as her blouse and the hat that sat atop her head as she lifted a dainty hand and sighed.

"Your collar is crooked. Your skirt is much too short, and your hair. Merlin, your hair is as unruly as those hideous front teeth of yours. No, this simply won't do!" Dolores says, her prim and proper hand twirled, her wand slamming against her desk.

"Turn around," she says, and the young girl rushed to abide the request, her heel spinning.

Dolores pulled her skirt harshly. Her hand then traipsed across to collar; the mere millimeter that hung crookedly her finger pinched as another exasperated sigh escaped her.

"Hermione, recite for me the 45th Educational Decree, please," she ordered, and Hermione's shoes shifted together as her posture straightened and head lowers.

"Proper dress and decorum is to be maintained at all times, madam," Hermione stammers, and Dolores nods.

"Such a simple concept, is it not?" Delores asked through her teeth, "I had hoped to have them written in a way that, no matter the ineptitude of the disadvantaged, that even they might understand."

Had she intended for Hermione to respond, she hadn't awaited the answer. Her hands were clasped together neatly in front of her; her mouth grinning back at her, regardless if her eyes seemed void of such a kindness.

"I expected more from the brightest witch of her age," Dolores reprimanded. Her hand runs through the child's hair as she clucked her tongue. "I suppose that I could perform a glamour charm, though this hair," paused Dolores, and her finger curled along a lock of her hair, twirling it under thumb, as if to accentuate her meaning. Her pursed lips angled to the right, pondering the thought before she breathes a laugh. "No, I doubt even that might tame it," she said, and her wand tapped the girl's closed mouth as she grinned.

"Once more, that sheer intellect of yours must spare us from embarrassment, hmm?" Dolores replies, and her wand tapped the child's arm. "I trust also that you've completed your lessons for the summer," she says, and the girl nods.

"Yes, ma'am, I placed them on the table for you, in your study," whispered the child. Her bushy mane brushed into her eyes as her head dipped to the ground.

"I presume then that it will meet my standards?" the woman asks, and though shaking Hermione dipped her head forward.

"Exceeding your standards, madam," she assured through a whisper, and the woman's lips twitched, a smirk finding her as she laughed.

"Oh I should hope so, dearie. You know better then most my detest for liars," Dolores replied, and Hermione swallowed, her hand subconsciously gripping at her sleeve as the woman continued on. "That being said, I'll be returning them to you before the semester begins," she advised, and Hermione nodded, the gesture near a bow as her body folded in half.

Once she thanked her, another bob of her head spared between them, Hermione tensed as she braved the question.

"May I be excused for the night, madam?" she asked.

Behind them, the pictures pinned on the wall both purred and hissed from their frames.

Delores tilted her head, seeming to outweigh the thought before finally, she smiled.

"Yes, child, you're dismissed," she says, and spinning on her heel, tiptoeing for the door, Hermione politely bid her farewell as she opened the door and bites on a smile.

Her voice shakes as she adds softly. "Goodnight, mother," she whispered.

Dolores swished her wand, shutting the door with a quieted clicked. Behind her the cats that filled her portraits had hissed, bouncing from saucer to saucer their tails twitching as she takes a seat.

Reaching for her tea; chamomile and just a dollop of sugar, her lipstick stained the cup as a manicured nail flipped the page of her daughter's heavily written essay.

"One must not tell lies," she said lowly, and her eyes skimmed across her daughter's papers as she hums. Her quill hovered on the desk, dipping in red ink as she smiled.

This year at Hogwarts would run swimmingly, she thought, and her mind ran circles on all she could do bring about change as the quill scribbled fiercely beside her. Her daughter would be delighted when the news broke.

* * *

Hermione ushered her familiar off the dresser; much to the chagrin of her cat, using the paper in hand to bat him gently from the furniture as she sighed. Lifting him in her arms she carried him to her bed and plopped against it.

Often when growing up, the opened arch of her room had stirred her from sleep. That sensation had not left her with age either as admittedly even then the light on her nightstand did little to comfort her from the darkness that hung at the threshold.

Having found her practicing charms, it was near a decade ago that her mother - with both an amiable smile and wild eyes - had with perfect posture, removed her door from it's hinges.

However, it hadn't stopped there. Restricting her use of a wand, that night her mother had banned her not only from common priveledge, but apart of her very being as she acquired her wand.

Each year since, as she stepped from the train and onto the platform 9¾, though standing surrounded by student's laughter and their hopes for the summer, Hermione would timidly step to her mother as plopped both wand and freedom in her mother's hand as she kissed her cheek, and smiled.

How unusual it must be; a child that wishes for summer's end.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Hermione stiffened at the sight of her friend's snowy white owl. Her foot hitting at her window, a persistent nagging for her attention as Hermione rushed to let her in.

"Hedwig!" she says, and under breath she hushed her. Hedwig puffed her feathers, an arrogant hoot greeting her as her head brushes her arm. "You have to be quiet, Hedwig," she whispered, and across the room; propped on her pillow, Crookshanks hissed.

"Crookshanks, enough," whispered the bushy brunette, and her flat faced feline merely mewled in retort.

Hedwig, though displeased, had obliged her quieted command as she lifted her leg and revealed her purpose. Tied to her leg Hermione loosened the bundled parchment with anticipation. Prying it from it's binding, she sighed as Harry's familiar scrawl stretched along the page.

'Dear Hermione,

Please understand that I have read your letters. I promise you, each and every one, and I kept intending to answer you back properly, but whenever I tried I couldn't. Even Ron has taken up to writing me and before you run off rampant with your assumptions, no, I hadn't written him back either.

I do hope that you're not terribly upset with me. I understand that you're concerned but I am taking care of myself. I even tried my hand at weight lifting over the summer. I gained near a stone in muscle. I suppose there's no surpassing Ron's height anytime soon, though I might have him in the arms.

I'll be seeing you soon. Three weeks, to be exact though I'm certain you're all but counting the minutes. I confess, when being here, I count them too. Please take care of yourself. I worry for you too.

With love,

Harry'

Hermione wasn't altogether surprised that as she read his gentled assurances, the words since scribbled on the scroll before her had then hopped eagerly from their crumpled confides and floated upwards towards the opened windowsill.

Dumbledore himself had not prohibited the three from communicating, however, after the death of a student and the rise of Voldemort, it was absolutely imperative that the group be as cautious and perceptive as possible.

Regardless if the three had already put precautions into practice well over four years ago, Dumbledore had brought it upon himself to ensure that the children would heed such secrecy - no matter if that same morning it was Hermione that had brought to his attention a word discombobulatiom charm. (Perhaps it should also be noted that when she had, Ron still swears upon it that a quill sat at the headmaster's desk had floated about frantic to write it down.)

It wasn't exactly a well kept secret, Hermione's friendship with the boy who lived. Nor was it mere rumours, her mother's conspiring hand. Dolores Umbridge held a rather loathsome notoriety among the wizarding world and Hermione wasn't naive to that notion or blind to the fact that her name was both as feared as it was adored.

Truth be told, should her mother happen upon Hedwig's arrival, the repercussions to such an 'uninvited' guest - neverminding that it was Harry Potter's owl, but merely an owl at all - was a thought hard to stomach. Hermione could not fathom what might happen to both her or Hedwig if her mother were to find them, and gripping the parchment; a particular quill in mind, she stepped into action.

Behind her, Harry's owl perched content at the windowsill, the owl watching quietly as she hastily wrote her response.

'Dear Harry,

I have been worried for you, and I admit, I was upset. Dreadfully upset with you, and I still have half the mind to pummel your head in when I see you next, though after all that's transpired and the times that we live in, I understand that you might have needed your space.

When you hadn't responded, I admittedly thought to send you a howler or two. Had Hedwig not convinced me otherwise, I might've seen that threat through though in truth I'm glad she won me over. Honestly, I'm just relieved to hear from you, and that you're doing alright. You've been through so much, Harry, I only ever hope to see you happy.

I suppose also, given your new hobby that you'll have to start checking your pumpkin juice for amortentia, if you keep it up! You'll have the common room swooning before long.

I can't wait to see you both. I do hope however, that Ronald has finished his assignments.

With all my love,

Hermione'

Her hand lifted, a hurried motion that caught Hedwig's waiting eyes as she flew to her arm. Hermione hurried, having rolled the parchment as she tied it tight to her leg. Her fingers trailed across Hedwig's puffed chest, her beak pecking gently back as Hermione sighed.

"You had better take care of yourself. Fly safe," she whispered, and the owl thumped it's head against her, nuzzling her wrist. "Be sure and send Harry my love," Hermione says, and the owl seemed to promise her that she would as she pushed off from her arm and soared through the night.

Once Hedwig was far from sight Hermione clasped the window shut and turned to her familiar. Crookshanks, with his whiskers moving with each breath, slept soundly across her bed. His gentled purring did a great deal to ease her mind; at least putting to bed the thought of being watched as she tiptoed past the opened arch as her shoulders slumped with exhaustion.

Three more weeks, Hermione thought, and she might've laughed that Harry had known her so well. Sensing that she would count the minutes, as she flipped through a tethered notebook, and sighed. She could hardly wait.


	2. Chapter 2

Stepping towards platform, the steam of the engine wafting through her lungs, Hermione climbed the lowest pole of a rusted guardrail and smiled.

Ronald's infamous red hair was spotted bobbing through the rush of people that shuffled past, and as her heart compelled to expel from her chest, her hands cupped at her mouth as she shouts.

"Ron! Ron!"

Ronald's head turned, a lopsided grin finding her as he came bounding towards her as if he were seeker and she the goldensnitch.

"Oof-! Ronald Bilius Weasley, you will put me down this instant!" she proclaimed, and though her fist were balled and thumping his shoulders, Hermione couldn't stifle her laughter as he spun her in his arms.

Spinning her in his arms the redhead kissed her temple, the smell of freshly mowed grass and mint enveloping her senses as his stubbled chin brushed against her.

"Bloody hell, Hermione, aren't you the stunner," he proclaims, and her toes touch the ground; his coarse hands cupping her face. "I for one, will be hexing the next tosser who dares so much as breathe in your direction," he says with a wink, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Charmer," she says shyly, and his arm slumps across her shoulder as he tugged her closer.

"Oh go on, admit it. You've been inconsolable without me," Ron says, and that crooked grin had her as she smiled.

"I imagine as much as you were incorrigible without me, hmm?" she inquired lightly, and Ron scoffed as she leant into his arms. "If you get much taller then this I'll be needing stilts come holiday," she returned through a whisper, "you clean up nice, Ron," she says, and with a peck to her forehead he laughed.

"Oh, now who's the charmer?" he repeated her earlier phrase with a smirk. Straining his eyes he peered through the horde of students and worrisome parents as he leaned against the railing.

His fingers began picking at a loose thread on her sweater as he watches a group of giggling third years run past.

"Harry should be here by now, it's half past," he says, and scratching the scruff on his chin, he sighed. "You don't suppose he's boarded on without us, do you?" he asked and Hermione shrugged.

Hermione spared a glance to her watch, and biting lip she reached for Crookshanks carrier, a hiss sounding at the movement. "I wouldn't be all that surprised if he did. You know he's been rather aloof all summer, and how his last letter read, he might prefer the quiet," she said softly, and Ron seemed to catch her meaning as she reached for his hand.

"No, let's at least give the man the benefit of the doubt, Hermione. Ginny might've cornered him, and if so, he's in it for the long haul, her and that gab," he said, his arm leading her towards the train as students stumble ahead. "I'll go and find us a seat," he says, and with a gentle nudge he smiles. Pausing along the steps, his hand scratched at his ear. "If it's not too much trouble also, there's a herbology lesson or three that I thought I might need your hand in finishing. If you're up to it, that is," he said sheepishly, and Hermione breathes a laugh.

"Oh, right , I'm sure it's just a hand," she said dryly. While Hrmione did detest his penchant for putting off his education, though truthfully a distraction might do her well as she sighed. "I'll consider it, but I won't do it for you," she said, and Ron grinned.

"You go on ahead then. I want to keep looking," she told him, and he wavered on the step, his hand stooping to reach for her cat's carrier he grimaced as he hissed.

"Bloody hell!" he screeched, and he held it farther at arm's length. "Don't be much longer, will you?" he pled, and Hermione shook her head grinning.

Turning upwards through the tunnel, the steam clung at her ankles as she peeled through it's confides and ascended up the hill. Her mind wandered to her friend as she did; her worries consuming her as she searched the crowd.

Remembering him as she last saw him, with such somber expression about him as she kissed his cheek and had wished him farewell. Unable to console him, he had hardly flinched to embrace her back, his arms staunch at his side as he then shuffled for his luggage and turned. Hermione hated that after everything he had been through - from Cedric to Voldemort, to the denial of his return after suffering at his hands -that after all of it, he would go home to such cruel and uncaring people.

Hermione often held an almost maternal sense towards Harry. He had seen so much darkness in his lifetime; his entire foundation was built upon it and yet, even still, when he felt the notion to smile he might all but light up the room. Hermione wanted nothing more then to help harder that light, as no one else deserved it more then Harry Potter.

"Pardon, pardon. Excusez-moi monsieur, I must get by!"

Had Hermione been minding her steps, she might have noticed then the head of blonde hair and velvety robes had all but rushed towards her as heels clicked and clamored across the platform.

Hermione was certain that - no matter that the woman's path had been a beeline to where she stood - she could pinpoint that accent through hordes of crowds, as she watched the blonde bump into an elderly man, mumbling once more profusely her apologies as she, with a shaky breath brushed at her skirt and blouse as she sighed.

"Fleur?" she asked.

Hermione had to stifle her laugh. Seeing the woman's eyes meet her; spotting her familiar face across the tunnel, it was both as endearing as it was bewildering as she watched Fleur's eyes widened to saucers. Endearing, that she seen such relief there, though bewildered as Hermione herself still had not confirmed why Fleur stood there at all as she stepped towards her.

"Fleur, what are you doing here?" she questioned, and the blonde smiled across at her, though her eyes hadn't held her content as she shuffled nervously.

"It is good to see you, belle," says the blonde, and perhaps Hermione might've known it was coming as the French witch kissed each cheek and brushed her arm. "I trust you are doing well, oui?" Fleur said, and Hermione resisted touching a hand to where her cheeks flushed as she nods.

"I am, and you?" Hermione stammered, suddenly engulfed in conversation with a woman to which she had hardly known though even when nervous Fleur's warmth had seemed to blanket over her as she smiled. "How's your sister? Gabrielle, yes?" Hermione continued, wincing that she might have forgotten her name, though Fleur's smile grew as she nods.

"Oui, Gabi, she is magnifique. She is starting her second term at Beauxbatons this year," the blonde answered. Hermione noticed she was far more comfortable at the mention of her sister then she was on speaking of herself. "Gabi is a bit of a - oh, what is the word - how you say, trouble maker, non?" she continues, and Hermione nodded, breathing a laugh.

"That's quite the contrast, isn't it," Hermione replied, and Fleur's smile seemed to agree with her as she nods.

"Oui, our maman had the thought last winter that perhaps she had taken more to our father's side of the family, then hers. I admit, I'm beginning to see truth in that," she said, and tilting her head Hermione's earlier inquiry resurfaced.

"Fleur, what are you doing here?" she asked, and though she had hoped that her words had not come out as abrasive as they sounded, Hermione hadn't liked her evasiveness as she shifted.

"Oh, there you are! Goodness, I was beginning to think that perhaps you had lost your way."

Hermione stiffened though beside her the blonde hadn't noticed as she instead laughed shyly at the voice approaching them from behind.

"Madam Umbridge, it is so good to see you again," Fleur proclaimed. Hermione could feel her mother's eyes as a familiar broach glinted beside her. "I hope that you can forgive my tardiness. I confess, I was seeing my sister off to Beauxbatons and she had not taken to the news of my travels lightly," she explained, and sparing a glance between the both, Fleur sighed. "Your daughter was just showing me to the train. Or, that is I had hoped she might. I hadn't gotten that far yet," Fleur blushed.

Dolores returned her grin, a high pitch laugh that seemed almost strangled in her throat. "How fortunate you found her. Most of the students have borded the train by now," she said, and while Hermione's eyes found the floor, Fleur laughed, unawarest to the familiar foreboding that crept in her words as Dolores smiled at the blonde in wait of an answer.

"Oui, I'm afraid it is my fault. I was only telling her of Gabrielle's tendency to finding trouble. How ironic that I seemed to have found it for myself," she said, and her hands gestured around them as she blushed.

Dolores shakes her head, another laugh leaving her as her hand perched atop Hermione's shoulder. "Undoubtedly trouble has found you, that we can agree on," said Dolores.

"Now then, if you'll pardon me, Fleur, I have rather pressing matters to attend to. Hermione, if you'll please escort Fleur to the train."

Hermione lifted her head. "Escort her to the train?" she asks, and her mother's disapproving glance had found her as her head quickly lowered. "Yes, ma'am I would be glad to," she whispered in correction; not pressing for answers as her mother turned on her heel, her shoulders tight as she clutched her purse and glided through the crowd.

"Your mother, she seems lovely," Fleur said. Hermione swallowed as she reached for the blonde's luggage. "Oh non, non. Hermione, you don't have to do that, I can manage-" Fleur started, though shaking her head Hermione shuffled up the hill, luggage in hand as she starts for the train.

Her English had more then improved. Fleur Delacour refused her chivalrous act all but to the top of the hill; English rebuttals meeting her as her heels clicked meticulously behind her.

"Honest, Hermione, I can handle it," she whispered, and remembering her mother's poised glance, Hermione rolled the luggage all the quicker as she shrugged.

"I don't mind, Fleur, it's not a problem," Hermione replied, a touch more rigid in her response. Fleur seemed to notice as she tilts her head.

"You have your mother's stubbornness, I'm seeing," she said, a small smile there though Hermione hadn't returned it as her shoulders stiffen. "Something I said?" she questioned, and the brunette shakes her head.

"No, not at all," Hermione whispers. Her hand gestures to the Hogwarts Express, the steam engulfing them as the train hissed and chimes sounded. Her mind wandered back to her friend as she glanced around them. "Merlin, where is he?" she whispered, and behind her Fleur reached to claim her luggage.

"You are searching for someone?" she inquired, and Hermione nodded. "Well perhaps I can help, I-" Hermione turned, reluctant to tell her much more as she shakes her head.

"That's not necessary. I don't want to keep you any longer then I already have, Fleur," she says, and Fleur pulled a scroll from her robes as she shrugged.

"Nonsense, let me help you, Hermione. If it's a student you are seeking, then I have the ledger right here. I could simply-" she said, and Hermione squinted.

"Ledger?" she asks. "Fleur, how did you get a students ledger?" Hermione questioned, and Fleur couldn't help but smile.

"I am to undergo a mentorship here at Hogwarts this semester," she replied. "Your mother, she has permitted that I might study under her to better acclimate myself to what is to be expected of me when I take my position in the minis-"

"My mother?" she questioned, and Fleur's brow furrowed, breathing a laugh as she stared down at her.

"Oui, your mother," she said slowly. "She has not told you the good news?" Fleur began. Had Ron not stumbled between them, breathless as his hands settled on Hermione's, then perhaps the blonde might've explained.

Instead Ron coughed, his breath haggard as he pulled. "Bollocks did you tour the entire bloody station, Hermione? We have to go," he stammered, though surprising her he tugged opposite the train. His hand reaching for hers he entwines their fingers, a motion that Fleur took notice of as Ron sighed. "Hermione, let's go. I have to find mum," he urged.

"What do you mean, what's wrong-"

"It's Harry. He's in trouble, we have to find him," he said, and that was Hermione needed to hear as she took off after him.

Behind them Fleur shouted after them. "But you won't find him here, monsieur Weasley!" she shouted through the crowd,and as Hermione started up a winding stairwell she heard her finishing phrase as her stomach churned.

"Harry Potter has been expelled!" said Fleur, her hands clutching the ledger.

What on earth was going on.


	3. Chapter 3

"I regret to inform you, that as of 6:23 this evening, the ministry of magic has received intelligence that Harry Potter has performed the patronus charm in the presence of a muggle. In clear violation of the decree for reasonable restriction of under age sorcery, Harry Potter has been expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Should you have further questions in reference to this matter, please contact you're nearest aur..."

Hermione felt the world muffled around her. Unflinching she stared past the group of shifting redheads. Molly hugging her tight, a quieted promise that everything would be alright whispered in her ear as Fred and George slouched oddly mute beside her. Ron had taken a seat on the ground, his arm perched on her knee as he awaited the news alongside her.

Behind them Lupin held the formal letter, a shared grimace finding both Sirius and Kingsley as he gripped Tonks hand and tossed it on the table.

"He's not a child, Molly. He can decide for himself," said Sirius.

"He's just a boy, Sirius," Molly said, a high pitch in her voice that was as shrill as the whistling pot behind her as the teapot steamed and signaled it's finish.

"Molly," whispered Sirius, though she wouldn't stand for it as she sighed.

"Honestly, at times, you act as if you've gotten your best friend back," she says, her fiery disposition near as reddening as her hair as she spun. "I won't stand for it, Sirius. I won't let you, or Dumbledore make a martyr of these children, and if you think for one moment that I'll see them marching off to war, then you're as daft as-" her voice lowered when she cast a glance to the children propped on the ground, and her face turned peakish.

Seeing her children's frightened expressions, and that of Hermione, her rigid posture telling that this was not the time nor the place, Molly's hands brushed at her apron as she sighed.

"Fred, George, go and find your sister for me please. I'll be needing her in the kitchen before long," she ordered briskly, and the twins stood upright; stiff as poles as they scurried off.

Her head turned towards the youngest as she stepped forward. "Ronald, your father will be here with Harry at any moment. Set the table," she whispered, and the youngest boy bobbed his head. Molly then motioned to Hermione, her eyes softening as she stepped towards her. "Hermione, dear, if you're hungry there's gingered gills in the hall cabinet," she said, and her voice was lathered with honey as she gripped her arm.

"It's a shame you can't stay with us, dear. I had hoped very much to put some meat on these bones while we had you," she said through a smile, and Molly shakes her head. Hermione blushed as the woman's fingers pinched her cheek. "I have to spoil you when I can, though it seems less and less these days," she said, and behind them huddled at the table Lupin smiled across at her, seeming to quietly agree with her words as he tipped his goblet towards her and nods.

"I understand that precautions are necessary in our times," Hermione said, and her mother's status was well on all their minds then as she swallowed. More then aware of Sirius's pointed stare, she smiled.

He hadn't wanted her here, no matter Lupin or Dumbledore's good word. Her connections, or that of her mother's were too dangerous to ignore. "Even still, I appreciate your hospitality, Mrs. Weasley. Truly," Hermione whispered, and the woman's hand brushed through her bushy mane.

"Nonsense, dear, you're family, and family takes care of one another," she said, and her arm slid atop her shoulder. "I can at least send you off with a helping of apple fritters! I baked them fresh this morning for Arthur, his mother's recipe. I'll go and fetch them for you," she continued, and patting her arm she motioned them towards the door.

Her red hair bounced towards the kitchen as Ron stepped to Hermione and smiled.

"I wish you could stay, 'mione," he whispered, and his hand brushed at the small of her back as he guides them towards her things.

Hermione blushed, his hand uncommonly close to her as she felt his thumb brush across her hip. "I get to see that he's alright, at least. That's all I wanted," she whispered, and Ron nods.

Behind them a pop sounded, a breathless Harry appearing at Arthur's side, and before he could so much as blink, Hermione ran to embrace him.

"Harry!" she proclaimed, and though he grunted at the impact he returned her grip tenfold.

"Hermione," he whispered, and his hand cradled around her head as he pulled her closer. "I'm sorry," Harry whispers, and the brunette couldn't have cared for what as she breathes him in; sandalwood and leather bound books meddling with her senses as her toes lift off the ground, and while Ron had twirled her around, Harry merely held her tight as he sighed. "I'm alright," he says, and how he had persistently read her every thought Hermione hadn't known as she leant against him.

Behind them both Sirius and Lupin had stepped to their side awaiting their turn. Arthur migrated towards Ron, his hand patting his arm. Tonks was perched against a corner stoop, Kingsley not far from the table as Molly rushed to them and Ron bounded across the floor smiling.

For a moment there they were. Together. How Hermione had wished that she might hold on to that sense of belonging; to that sense of comradarie.

"You weren't kidding about these arms, were you?" she asked, and despite their problems Harry chuckled in her ear and squeezed her in his arms.

Had Hermione have known that this would be the groups last moment together. Had she have predicted that the majority of those that stood around her she would never see again. Had she have seen it coming, then perhaps then she would have held him tighter as she sighed.

* * *

Fleur Delacour motioned to a herd of bewildered first years as she clutched her ledger and hurried them along up the winding stairwell.

From her prior time at Hogwarts, both during the Triwizard tournament and briefly when touring the grounds over the summer under Dumbledore, the blonde witch had known the intimidation these children faced when staring upwards at stairs that turned and groaned whichever way they pleased.

Remembering rather vividly her challenges as an exchange student, she shakes her head as she started up the stairwell. Her thoughts as a student, recalling that sense of hopelessness, that the thought of a mere staircase sending her for a loop meant that she might never succeed outside of her schooling, as her younger self cried in search for a professor that might aide her. Oh how she had grown since then, she thought smiling.

"Professor Delacour?" questioned a student behind her, and with a glance to her ledger the scroll focused on the young man's name, as if highlighting it as she smiled down at him. For that moment proud to answer him; the question being her first since taking on her new title.

Stepping towards him she smiled brightly. "Oui, monsieur Hawthorne, it is a pleasure to help you but please remember, I am not a professor, I am an understudy to madam Umbridge, there is a difference," she said, and he nodded shyly as he shifted towards her and tucked in her robes in motion for her to hunch towards him as he winced.

Fleur knelt to his height, lending her ear as his his hands cupped around his mouth as he whispered softly. "I have to see a man about a horse," he says, and he bounced on his toes to express his urgency. Behind them students giggled as he squirmed.

In realization that he hadn't much cared her status through those halls, her wounded ego had deflated a bit as her shoulders slumped at the inappropriate expression. "Three doors to the right," she murmured, and he beamed up at her as he hurried off.

In his absence Fleur clutched her ledger, her books pinched under arm she sighed. Instructing the giggling children to lean against the wall in wait for the boy's return, she watched as other's followed suit, not bothering to ask permission nor listen as she demanded they stay put as they fled after him.

"It comes with time, dear, don't let it bother you," said professor McGonagall, and it appeared that even her movements seems emboldened with wisdom as she stepped towards her with a knowing smile.

Fleur blushed. "Good evening, professor McGonagall," she said, and patting her the woman shakes her head.

"Oh, do call me Minerva, dear," she says, and the blonde smiled. "I trust you've found your accommodations to your liking?" she said, and Fleur nodded with exuberance.

"Oui, and I must thank you for the lovely carriage, it was brilliantly crafted," she replied, and McGonagall smiled.

Remembering the miniature horses, with their wings animatedly flapping as they grazed by their carriage. On her armoire they sat, no bigger then a quill. Fleur had admired the intricate details of their flowing manes; the carriage reminiscent of those they had ridden on to Hogwarts for the Triwizard tournament, as the horses neighed and nibbled at her touch.

"I thought it might do well to keep a piece of home with you here during your stay," she says, and Fleur had caught a twinkling there in her eyes as she started through the hall.

Surrounding her, little geese in toe with their mother, a group of Gryffindor first years followed Minerva quietly through the halls, their eyes brimming with excitement as the pictures bowed and scurried after them.

Fleur's mind wandered to the witch that had found her that morning; another proud lioness that stood before her. However the noticable differences to the upturned nose of McGonagall, and the slouched, almost submissive stance of Hermione hadn't gone unnoticed to the blonde as she remembered her flinch at her touch. Remembering how her eyes hadn't quite reached hers as she tugged at her luggage and hurried towards the train as her mother's heels clicked loudly in the other direction.

There was something there though indecipherable to her what that there there had been, the blonde could merely watch her go as she shouted after them.

Her ledger hadn't listed the brunette nor the redhead as absent. Strange as that were, she thought, as she remembered rather specifically the pair wandering off farther from the Hogwarts Express, the boy's mother motioning them to follow her as she disappears into the crisp fog of the train station. However, regardless that the train had filled without them, Professor Flitwick, nor McGonagall had seemed bothered by their misplacement - an odd enough predicament though Fleur tried to shrug it off as she hurried a group of children and motioned that a snogging boy and girl both find themselves a seat, and quickly, as she sighed.

Her thoughts of the bumbling brunette continued, and as it had Fleur had hardly noticed the broach on her robe until it began to pur. Rather loudly at that, the plastic feline that Delores had earlier pinned to her robes and assigned her to wear, purred with growing persistence as the sound seemed to cling to walls around her.

Behind her stood professor Snape, and while he hadn't bridged the distance to speak to her, he instead scowled as he brushed past her. Pinned to her robes the broach hissed, the sneering professor casting one final glance as he hurried down an opened corridor.

Once his feet turned the corner Fleur heard a distinctive cough, a laugh stifled behind it. Spinning, she found Dolores Umbridge, her hands clutched at her stomach. Fleur noticed that the purring had stopped as the woman stepped towards her.

"Didn't you hear me calling you, dear?" she asked, and her eyes peered at the plastic broach, a glance shared between them as she smiled. "We have much to do, Fleur, we mustn't doddle," Dolores said, and the blonde blushed as she nods. Motioning the children along she followed Dolores with attentive eyes as her fingers touched the broach, the woman's heels clicking ahead of her as they walked.


End file.
